Chronicler Saga: Across the Multiverse 1: Potterverse
by TheChroniclerJon
Summary: Sequel to Chronicler Saga: Teen Titans... Jon is adrift in the multiverse after Raven's last, desperate attempt to save him. Join him as he struggles to find home, himself, and his love.
1. Ungültige Welt

_Author's Note: Welcome to Across the Multiverse 1: Potterverse. This is a sequel to a previous work, The Chronicler Saga: Teen Titans. You should be able to read this story without having read the previous one, but I still recommend it. The "Potterverse" parts begin in chapter 2, and things really start rolling in chapter 3. Please review, and thanks for reading._

* * *

Clothing bloody and torn, Jon fell through the space between worlds and dreamed.

He dreamed of Japan, of martial artists in Nerima and goddesses in Chiba. He dreamed of demons and the dead, of life and hope, of his sister and his tribe. He dreamed the dreams of the expat, of hearth and home, and of the warrior, and of the poet.

With a sudden crackle of emerald lightning, a portal tore through the void around him and deposited him, harshly, upon concrete. He woke for a brief moment before his head cracked against the ground, and then he fell silent and dreamless.

Unseen and unnoticed, the tear in reality closed itself and left him bereft in a new world.

* * *

I woke up.

Shortly thereafter, I determined that this was a bad idea. My head hurt, and gentle examination with questing fingers soon found a bump which I took far too long to attribute to the concrete I was laying on.

Sitting up with a grimace, I worked my tongue around my mouth (apparently I had bitten it at some point) and worked up enough saliva to spit out a bloody globule. Luckily, I still had all my teeth.

As my mind sluggishly geared up to something approaching usability, I continued to take stock of my condition. I was in surprisingly good health, considering that my last memory was of Raven ripping my throat out. Uneasily, I brought my hand to my throat. I didn't even feel a scar.

My clothing, on the other hand, hadn't fared so well. Skin peeked through rents in the fabric, fuzzy and jumbled memory showing they had been ravaged by blade and tooth and claw. A question bubbled up through my mind, slow and inexorable as the moon rise. "Why was Raven attacking me?" I muttered as I thought through the problem.

In a flash, I remembered everything.

The force of my remembrance staggered me, and I rested a hand against a nearby brick wall to steady myself as my efficient mind slotted its memories back into place. My last clear memory was of speaking to Raven in our mindscape. After that everything was blurry and disjointed, flashes of impressions more than actual memories. Zarach had been in control after that, and I…

I blinked in shocked realization, the immensity of it finally filtering into consciousness. I sifted through my mind with frantic energy. Zarach was gone. Shadows of his memories remained, true, and some of his abilities that had been imprinted on my soul likewise, but the being himself was no more. I slumped to the ground and stared into space, laughing as tears of release rolled down my cheeks.

Time passed without my notice, so I'm not sure how long I sat there in the alley before I heard a voice ask, "Hey buddy, are you alright?"

I looked up, becoming aware of my surroundings once more. I had positioned myself with my back against the alley wall, slumped against a dumpster. With awareness came the awakening of my senses, and my nose crinkled against the aroma of refuse and rot. The voice came from the other side of the dumpster, hiding its source and me from him.

Yes, it was a male voice, and somewhat familiar. I struggled to my feet and when my head cleared the top of the dumpster I gaped at the sight before me.

Cyborg stood there, but his mechanical parts glowed a cherry red instead of the blue I was more accustomed to. He saw me at the same time, but his response was not what I was expecting. Recognition lit his eyes, but with a fury and fire I was unprepared for. "Chronicler," he snarled, his sonic cannon forming in an instant as he shot a pulse of ominous red at my position.

Gracelessly, I fell backwards, the motion causing a twist of nausea and a darkening of my vision. The attack, however, flew over my head and impacted the wall behind and above me, shaking loose brick and mortar from their places. In the brief moment that I lay there I heard Cyborg shout out, "Titans, to me! It's the Chronicler!"

I rolled away from a foot stomp that cratered the asphalt where I was laying a moment ago. "Whoa, what the hell, big guy?" I shouted out as I scrambled away from the semi-mechanical death machine. "I know we didn't exactly part on good terms but I thought that was water under the bridge!"

A wordless roar of rage was his answer, along with a continuing assault. I twisted and dodged as best I could in my impaired condition, absurdly thankful for the rage with which he battled since it made him sloppy. Still, I was no match for the Titan alone, and I was beginning to have my doubts that the rest of the team would do anything other than try to kill me.

I needed to get out of here.

As if in response to my desperation, I felt my magic reach out and twist space behind me. A tear opened in the world, glowing with soft green light and crackling about the edges with a sort of ectoplasmic energy.

With Cyborg's trademark energy attack bearing down on me, I took a step backwards through the portal. Both myself and the portal vanished, leaving Cyborg to rage at the night sky as his three teammates joined him.

* * *

I wasn't expecting to fall into the Ungültige Welt, but at the same time I wasn't surprised. As for whether my new transdimensional abilities were the result of something having gone right or wrong… well, it was too soon to say.

It was an interesting place, this world between worlds. Flashes of reality bubbled and frothed through the aether I floated in. I was reminded of a phrase, "the Quantum Foam", but I had only a vague glimmering of what it meant. Science was never my passion, although I had a love of its fiction.

Time was an odd experience here. I felt as though time was passing, although I couldn't fathom how. If each of these worlds had its own timestream, then I was certainly outside of it. Maybe it was recursive. Worlds within worlds within worlds, all the way down to the outside.

 _See the TURTLE of enormous girth. On his shell he holds the earth…_

Who knows? Maybe there's truth in fiction. Lord know's there's enough fiction in truth.

Soon enough (although who knew, it could be eons in this strange non-place) I felt a tug towards a particular bubble of reality. With no better plan, I reached out and felt my magic connect to it, forming a neat little slit in the bubble's surface through which I was pulled.

The world coalesced around me.

* * *

I stumbled as I landed, gravity reasserting its hold over my body. A glance around revealed that I was in Jump, and a mixture of relief and trepidation flowed through me. It was raining, a torrent of water and lightening in near equal measure.

I had materialized beneath an awning to a small corner store, the cheerful green and white stripes of it lit harshly and cast to strange hues by the neon lighting promising cold beer and ice. Thrusting my hand into my pocket, I was both relieved and surprised to find my billfold still housed within. I would have thought it lost between the various calamities I had found myself in over the past several… days? Hours?

Ruefully, I wondered who had it worse: time-travelers or dimension-hoppers.

Suddenly weary, I trudged into the store and gave a tired wave to the clerk behind the counter. He glared at me suspiciously. Bad enough to be covered in twisting lines of ebon ink from scalp to sole, but the state of my clothing did me no favors either. Carefully counting out my currency, I found myself forced to choose between a sandwich and an umbrella. My stomach turned when I glanced over the selection of morsels in the cold case, thus deciding for me.

Out of nowhere, a sharp spike of phantom pain slammed through my neocortex. I groaned and slapped my hand over my right eye before I quite realized what I was doing. "Hey man, if you're going to freak out go do it somewhere else," shouted the store tender. My eyes widened in sudden recognition. That was a huge burst of magic, unfocused and wild...

… and it felt like Rachel's.

I snagged the umbrella and strode swiftly over to the register, the wide-eyed man there suddenly reaching under the counter to grasp something as he stuttered out, "Whoa, I don't want any trouble." I slammed the cash in my hand onto the counter and strode out into the night, opening the umbrella as I went and ignoring the shotgun aimed at my back.

Relatively dry under the dome of black fabric, I struck out to track the source of the energy burst. I cast my senses outward, both mystic and mundane, searching for the familiar feeling of ebon and ivory that manifested from Rachel's soul. A desperate plea, drowned by the storm but brought to me by tendrils of eldritch energy shout-whispered, "No - no - _Stop_ it - _Azar protect me!_ "

Seizing the thread of energy, I raced to follow it back to its source, heedless of the rain that drenched me, the umbrella useless in the face of my sudden burst of speed. It was _wrong_ , that voice. Rachel never sounded desperate, never begged protection from anyone. She was strong, almost prideful to a fault, and never, _never_ , lost her control to panic. Another ice-pick of pain shot through my mind, causing me to shout and stumble sideways in surprise, slamming my shoulder harshly into a brick wall. The cold rain kept the painful throbbing I knew I would experience soon at bay, and I stopped at the entrance to an alley lit by white shadows and a palpable sensation of terror and despair.

This close, I sensed the subtle difference between this magic and Rachel's. It was the same substance, but a different flavor, wielded by someone other than the Rachel I knew. Still, I forced myself to continue forward. Regardless of who this person was, it was clear that they were distressed, and it was possible that I could be in a position to help.

With measured steps I paced down the alley, subtly encouraging the arcing, unfocused mana that swarmed in this place to ground around me. The maelstrom died down, and I allowed my aura to project warmth and caring, compassion and acceptance. Soon, the energy storm stopped altogether, allowing nature's fury predominance once more.

I saw her then, huddled into a small ball at the end of the alley, a slip of a girl with white silk plastered to her body, shivering and sobbing against the night. I stopped for a moment. She was so small, younger than the Titans and completely inconsolable in her misery. I didn't know, _couldn't_ know what twistings of fate had led her here or me to her, but my heart went out to her. I remembered being alone, terrified and lost far from home, before I learned to wear the mantle of loneliness that was a Chronicler's birthright as a cloak against the world's injustices. She was not a woman, as Rachel had been despite her age, but a child. I walked closer, and my heart clenched to see her flinch away from my footsteps. I crouched a little, wove a small bit of magic about the umbrella, and held it towards her.

"Nobody deserves to be stuck out here alone, not in this weather, and especially not without an umbrella," I said gently, offering it a bit closer when it seemed she didn't notice it in front of her.

Her hand, petite and white-fingered from the cold, reached out and grasped the handle, more of a reflex than due to any real conscious decision on her part, I thought. I smiled then, seeing the cantrip of courage I had woven around the umbrella softly weaving around the girl. She didn't look into my eyes, but her head raised slightly and my smile softened to see her tears slowing.

"Keep yourself dry, hon, and good luck."

And suddenly the painful reality that this was _not_ Rachel, and that this was _not_ the universe I had found her in came back to the forefront of my mind. I slammed down on it ruthlessly, burying the pain and wrapping the familiar cloak of loneliness about me once more. I stood and strode away, exiting the alley and tearing a hole into that space between worlds that had, somehow, become an instinctive action for me. I slipped through the portal and sewed it shut behind me, the girl's call of "Wait!" echoing out of the alley's mouth, painfully like and unlike the girl I had fallen for.

Despite myself, I lingered next to the bubble of reality, watching the silk-clad girl as she clutched an umbrella in one hand and a dove in the other, watching as she searched the streets in a hopeless quest to find me.

After a moment, I heard her say, "Thank you."

I allowed the flow of the multiverse to pull me away once more.

* * *

 _AN: Special thanks to Raven's secret-keeper for allowing me to play with her OC, Dove. To see that last bit from Dove's perspective, check out her one-shot, Umbrella._


	2. A Meeting of Minds

I had become somewhat adept at traversing the Null World, but familiarity never quite managed to supplant the awe I had first felt when I beheld it. It was one thing to know that alternate dimensions existed, to accept it as fact and truth, but another thing entirely to have free reign over which universe you were currently inhabiting.

The things I had learned from my dimension hopping were varied and informative. I passed through worlds in myriad different iterations, each branch of choice made by humanity spinning another bubble into the frothy foam of existence. In one, the Nazi's won and the Third Reich was a global empire. Right next door, Hitler was an accomplished and respected artist. Aliens invaded, or made peace treaties. Magic flowed like water, or was completely absent. A million million possibilities, all true, and most unknowing of their neighbors' existence.

Perhaps the most surprising and exciting bit of knowledge that I had gained was about myself. I had always been a mage, studying the Chronicler's craft since I was a young boy and learning to ply the mystic threads of creation in extraordinary waves. A constant, however, was its inherent limitation. Reality was a consensus, and everyone is allowed a vote. The vast majority of humanity did not believe in magic, and reality took a dim view of those that violated its generally agreed upon laws.

This, however, was no longer a problem. Somehow, and I couldn't fathom what could have done it, but somehow I was no longer held to this fact of life that I had _known_ to be true.

"Klaus, if you could only see me now," I thought to myself with a melancholy grin.

There was one particular cluster of bubbles ("I _have_ to think of a better name for them," I thought) that kept drawing my attention. Generally, the universes floated about, unattached. Very occasionally I would see two clumped together, or even three, but this batch was holding together tightly.

It looked for all the world like bubblebath, as incongruous as that was. Easily a thousand or more universes, all bunched together and passing through the Null World. I floated through the foam, not entering the various universes but simply observing through the walls at the edge of reality.

What I saw chilled me.

This entire… cluster… was in disarray. I only caught glimpses as I passed between the worlds, but in every one was death. Mages battled one another on the streets. Mundanes at war with their magical brethren. An entire series of worlds populated by corpses with a madly laughing caricature of a man, (glowing with a black light?) sitting atop a throne of bone, served by scantily clad and emaciated men and women. And all of them, every one in the cluster, with a tendril of green tunneling and weaving through the morass to a central bubble, larger and more real than the others in some undefinable manner.

It was completely unlike anything I had seen elsewhere in the multiverse's flow.

Driven by morbid curiosity, I moved closer to this central bubble, this seeming lynchpin to the madness around it. The bubbles closer to the center began to revolve around a single theme, A group of teenagers, sometimes more and sometimes less, fighting a running battle through a labyrinth of twisting halls and spectacular rooms. In each one, a boy glowed brighter than than the others, not visibly, no, but he seemed more _real_ than the others.

Without warning, I understood.

"A Childe of Prophecy," I murmured in wonder, gazing around the cluster with new understanding.

True Prophets were vanishingly rare, rarer even than Seers and Diviners. They didn't just speak of the future, they spoke of Truth. A prophesied event _always_ occurred, was inevitable, a fact of the universe that had simply not come to pass yet. A Prophet spoke, and empires tumbled, gods rose, and entire worlds were shifted along a radically different path.

It was horrifying. What _was_ this prophecy that held such a large part of the multiverse in sway, held so many possible futures just a decision away from existence? And what part did that Dark Lord and that Golden Boy have to play in it?

More importantly, was there anything I could _do_?

I had never felt so impotent, so useless. I had somehow managed to slip reality's leash and possessed seemingly unlimited power. Yet, I never felt more humble in the face of adversity. I was, after all, just a very small person, insignificant flotsam caught in the flow of this universe of universes.

An echo of a memory came to me then, my younger self speaking to my mentor as I delved into magics better left forgotten in my home universe so far away.

 _Can I not be of greater service with greater power?_

Setting my features to a grim expression, I muttered an answer to my younger self.

"Not if I don't _try_."

Heedless of the danger, and without a plan of any kind, I opened a slit into the core universe for this cluster of potential universes and passed through.

* * *

I found myself standing in a cavernous room, in a corridor formed by shelves that stretched from the floor to the darkness that shrouded the ceiling. A perfunctory glance at the shelves' contents showed them to be small orbs, about the size and shape of a snow globe.

Hearing a crash off to my right, I began to jog over to the source. A cacophony arose, shouts and screams along with an unnerving number of voices speaking in raspy, even tones.

But before everything else, what I noticed was the sheer _magic_ of the place! The very air was saturated in it, and it was the work of a few minutes before I managed to dial my mage-senses down enough to take better stock of my surroundings.

Much of the noise had faded, and I found myself in a bit of a quandary regarding which way to proceed. Trusting to instinct, I started to run down aisles more or less at random. Soon enough I found one with shattered glass littering the ground, the feel of active magic still tingling in the air.

Nodding decisively, I followed the threads of active magic at a run. I was far behind the group, but I hadn't noticed any great indication that the children had been seriously injured just yet. I passed through rooms and chambers that defy description, each catalogued neatly in my mind for later perusal. At this point, my whole focus was on reaching those children who were fighting against those with more experience and, likely, savagery.

It took too long, far too long to wind my way through this labyrinthine collection of rooms, doors, and halls. Eventually, however, I found myself in the room that I had seen from my vantage outside of this universe.

The room with the arch.

It whispered to me, that arch, in tones both sugary and bitter. It spoke of promises, deceits, and power. It _leaked_ power, cold and dark as the ocean floor, as inexorable as death.

But my target was not here.

Most of the teens were, and a collection of adults both on the floor and standing. I assessed the situation quickly, judging from the relatively relaxed state of the teens that the adults still on their feet were, if not allies, at the very least not enemies.

Good. I could move on.

I hadn't stopped my run during my assessment, and the room had several exits. I couldn't waste time by dithering, and my options were limited. "Which way?" I shouted out as I entered the room.

My question had a range of responses, from open mouthed surprise to the leveling of wands in my direction. One of the children, however, pointed the way to go with an expression of mild curiosity on her fair face.

Throwing a hurried salute towards the blonde girl, I veered off and went in the direction indicated. Behind me, spells splashed against the stone walls as the adults figured it better to cast first and question later.

Good strategy, if a little slow.

Thus far I'd been running on adrenaline and hope, and I prayed that they would remain enough as I slid into an atrium lined with… fireplaces? I spared a thought for mages and their eccentricities as I took in the space before me.

A woman lay sprawled across the marble floor, the boy standing over her. Appearing out of nowhere, the disfigured man with the dark aura appeared behind him, whispering black encouragement and positively _reeking_ of necromancy while the woman chuckled..

I waited for an opening. I couldn't be sure that they hadn't seen me yet, but after the man disarmed the boy they seemed to be entirely focused on each other. Suddenly one of the fireplaces lit, and an elderly man walked through the flames. He, too, held power close to him, smelling of summer and sunshine. They exchanged words, and then…

...spells.

It was madness, magic twisted to specific patterns but all so _obvious_ and _vulgar_. Either these madmen cared not for the consequences of such displays of wizardry, or such displays _had_ no consequences in this world.

Judging by the surrounding magical ambiance, I'd guess the latter.

Things seemed to be well in hand, excepting the escape of the woman, and I settled myself to watch the fight until something happened to necessitate my involvement. I kept an eye on the boy, and rolled my eyes as he failed to capitalize on the distraction the duel provided to recapture his wand. Well, maybe he didn't need it.

Stray bolts of magic sparked off of the two dueling spells, shooting tiles off of the wall over the boy's head. I wove a small, discreet spell in front of him to redirect the bursts so that he wouldn't come to harm, and shifted my weight to the balls of my feet.

With a chuckle and a roar, the dark man conjured a beast of fire and flame, a snake of gargantuan proportions that moved to strike the elderly man down. Never faltering, the elderly man undid the conjuring, blasting fire down the atrium and leaving the air hotter in its wake. The dark man barely managed to dispel the wall of flame hurtling towards him before the elderly man drew water from a fountain into a raging vortex, capturing the dark man within its grasp.

As the elderly man advanced, the boy stood as well, pacing behind the elderly man as he moved closer to the watery attack. Without warning, I felt a build up of magical energy within the water sphere. A glance showed that the elderly man's attention was devoted to his spell, and the boy noticed nothing amiss. I chose that moment to charge forward, grabbing the boy and dragging him to the ground as I shouted, "Down, you fool!"

My timing was fortuitous. The dark man burst out of his liquid prison and hurled a stream of black energy at the elderly man, which he just barely managed to block with some form of shield spell. The dark man was not finished yet, and with a shout and a burst of raw, unfocused magic, he blew the atrium apart.

Shards of glass, dagger sharp, fell all around us even as the marble on the walls and floors shattered and cracked. I threw my hand into the air, circled once and shouted, " _Bastille Fortississimo!_ "

A brilliant dome sprung into existence around the boy and I, woven of translucent bricks the color of pure gold. The dark man wrenched the falling glass from the air and directed it towards the elderly man, who formed a barrier of his own that changed the glass flying through it into sand.

The look of disappointment on the face of the dark man would have been humorous if it wasn't tinged with cold malice and a sort of calculating cast which boded ill. A deceptively gentle wind picked up, swirling sand in a dervish and obscuring the dark man's figure before it died down, revealing his disappearance.

The elderly man turned around, hiding his surprise at my presence quite well. I allowed the bastille spell to dissipate, and was about to make introductions when the boy started to seize on the floor next to me. The elderly man rushed forwards, but then checked himself as the boy spoke in a voice not entirely his own.

"You've lost, old man."

The elderly man looked at me, and I saw desperation and helplessness in his eyes. The boy seized again, shouting out in pain as his eyes jerked erratically, as though he were dreaming. I could recognize possession as easily as anyone, but still I hesitated. In the end it was the cornflower eyes of the elderly man that made my decision for me.

I carefully placed my hands over the boy's head, fingertips gripping lightly on certain specific places on his face and neck. I took a centering breath to quell the nerves I was experiencing, and began to chant.

"Your mind to my mind. Your thoughts to my thoughts. We are one, you and I. Together, one mind…"

And I saw.

(My/His) godfather falling through the arch. The spectre of (Voldemort/the dark man) hovering over (me/him) in First Year. (A boy/Cedric) falling to spellfire in a graveyard. Behind everything, a constant litany spoken by (the dark man/Voldemort), calling (him/me) worthless, weak, vulnerable…

"No," I whispered both within our mind-meld and out loud, "we are strong." The elderly man (Professor Dumbledore) spoke as well, softly stating, "Harry, it isn't how you are alike. It is how you are not,"

We flitted through Harry's memories, and Voldemort continued to throw obstacles in our path. He appeared, ghost-like before us, blocking access to the memories we were attempting to access. Our friends arrived in the atrium then, gazing upon the sight of us with horror and concern.

 _There!_

A new path opened through our mind, triggered by the sight of our friends. Hermione hugging us at the end of Second Year. Studying with Ron and Hermione in the Gryffindor common room. Our parents in the Mirror of Erised. Sirius hugging us at (12 Grimmauld place/?). We poured through the memories of our past, throwing ever more memories of love, camaraderie, and trust at the foreign presence in our mind, weaponizing the good memories and driving the dark lord away.

We spoke in tandem, our voices as melded as our minds. "You're the weak one, and you'll never know love, or friendship." Then, Harry and I spoke differently.

"And I feel sorry for you," he said, while I commanded, "Now begone!"

With that, Voldemort's presence left our mind, and I broke our meld. Voldemort stood over us, panting slightly as he recovered from the forceful expulsion he had just been victim to. He loomed over us and spoke.

"You're a fool, Harry Potter, and you will lose everything." He spared a glance towards me, and seemed about to speak before the sound of fireplaces lighting and boots striding swiftly across the atrium interrupted him. He looked up and, sneering, disappeared.

There was a momentary pause.

"So," I said, turning to the boy. "Harry, right? I'm Jon."

Bemused, Harry shook my hand.


	3. The Headmaster and The Chronicler

I was still reeling a bit from the past hour, but the feeling of cold stone under my feet and against my back served as a panacea, grounding my thoughts and allowing my mind to more efficiently catalogue the events of the day. It was an oddly eventful day, for all that it had just started. I sighed and massaged my temples, fending off the headache I could feel gathering behind my brow. Thankfully, it was quiet, disturbed only occasionally by my own shifting feet and the movements of an oddly intent cat that was seated at the foot of a gargoyle statue.

At least my clothes were back in one piece. It was probably two universes ago that I had decided theft to be an answer to my wardrobe situation. I consoled myself in that I had taken the jeans and t-shirt from a bin meant to be donated to charity. After all, if having no job, home, or money made one needy, I certainly fit the bill. I could only imagine how this meeting would have gone in my previous attire, ripped and grimy with sweat and blood. I grimaced, realizing that jeans and t-shirts were still not the best attire to be adorned in when meeting people who, by all appearances, were important political figures.

They were clean. That had to count for something.

Glancing at the cat, I muttered, "Don't suppose you could give me any tips here, hm?" To my amusement, the cat stood taller and met my gaze. "I mean, I know that he's Albus Dumbledore, and that the boy is Harry Potter, but I don't have a solid idea of what exactly that _means_." The cat made as if to groom itself. "And now I'm talking to a cat," I said in a breathy half-chuckle. The feline turned its ears towards the gargoyle statue, and I managed to hear crashing just within the ability of my hearing. "Hope nothing's too expensive up there," I mused.

It seemed that the cat winced, and I began to firmly scold myself regarding anthropomorphizing. "I need more human contact," I said to myself. The cat looked affronted, admittedly not a difficult expression for a cat to make. "Not to imply anything about you, Your Felineship," I sketched a quick bow, "but I imagine conversation would flow smoother could my partner respond to me." The cat sniffed and turned its head away. "Verbally," I added on, "Respond verbally I mean." I sighed and allowed myself to sink to the floor.

"The thing is," I continued, for want of better company, speaking to the cat. I blinked, shrugged, and continued. "The thing is, I'm not from around here. I know I need to help that kid, but I don't have any clear idea of _how_. I know a fair bit of history, what with my station and all, but I don't know how much of it is relevant to this universe." The cat whipped around to stare at me, jaw hanging loose. I nodded and made a vague gesture towards it. "Yeah, that's something I should probably clarify. When I said I wasn't from around here... I may have been understating the distances involved." I pushed myself back to my feet and began pacing, the cat's eyes never leaving my form. "I'm a fairly accomplished mage," I continued, essentially thinking out loud at this point, "so maybe I can do something there." The cat was giving me a look that I interpreted as haughty disdain.

"No, really," I said, "I've never had an apprentice before, but I've taught plenty of times. I'm a professor at a university back stateside," I deflated and continued, "at least, in my home universe I was. Although, I don't think that poetry and mythology will help against that Voldemort fellow." The cat visibly flinched. I blinked. "Wow. The guy's so feared even _animals_ balk at his name. What a bastard."

And again with the gape-mouthed surprise.

Happily for my sanity, the gargoyle slid off to the side and a staircase formed in the hollow where it once sat. The boy, Harry, stormed down the stairs and stomped away under a cloud of fury, either not noticing or not deigning to acknowledge my presence there. Neither would have surprised me. I had been in his head literally minutes after he had lost his godfather, who was the last of his family if I understood correctly. "He's going to need to grieve, and he's going to need the support of someone understanding," I said to the cat. "I hope he finds someone to turn to for help in dealing with this." The cat looked back and forth between me and the hallway that Harry had taken. "Don't let me hold you up," I said as Dumbledore come down from the steps. With a quick look at Dumbledore, the cat ran off down the hallway.

Still looking down the hallway after the fleeing feline, I uttered, "That is one weird cat you have there, Professor."

With a mildly amused expression lifting some gloom from his face, Dumbledore replied, "I can assure you that Minnie is neither mine nor owned by any other witch or wizard. Come, we have much to discuss," he added, gesturing towards the stairway. After being settled into chairs near the fire (and stepping over various trinkets in different stages of obliteration), Dumbledore waded right into the heart of the conversation.

"Let's begin with introductions, shall we? My name is Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Headmaster for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," he started, "although you may call me Albus."

I nodded and performed the gesture of respect towards important personages that was practiced by my tribe. My hands formed fists, the back of my right fist being placed against my forehead while the back of my left rested against my sternum. "I am the Chronicler known as Jon, of the Far Western Tribes of the Amazon Nation." I returned my hands to my sides, and finished, "I would be honored if you referred to me as 'Jon'."

"Indeed…" Dumbledore intoned as he assessed me. I got the impression of a massive intellect working behind those eyes, hidden behind half-moon spectacles. Those eyes were chips of ice set into his wrinkled face, the eyes of a warrior with the soul of a scholar. Dumbledore continued, "I'm afraid that I'm unaware of any Amazon Nation, Far Western or otherwise."

"That," I spoke with a tired, resigned sigh, "is not unexpected. I will tell you my story, but ask that you keep an open mind."

A glimmer of curiosity lit in his eyes, and his robes shifted slightly as he leaned forward in anticipation. The motion would have gone unnoticed by most, and was the only thing that betrayed his eagerness. His inquisitiveness was tempered with caution, preparing to be neither credulous nor dismissive. It was more than I could have hoped for.

So, I told him my story. I spoke of my childhood, of being chosen as a Chronicler by my mentor, of the duties such a position entailed. I spoke of my folly, the subsequent death of Klaus and my removal from my home universe and joining with the demonic entity known as Zarach Bal-Togh. I spoke of the atrocities performed while Zarach held control of my body, of the goddesses and their suffering and mercy. I spoke of my geas, the prophecy whose fulfillment I was charged with preventing. I spoke of Rachel, known as Raven, the Nephilim turned Valkyrie through her unwavering dedication to the ideals of justice. I spoke of my death at her hands, and my subsequent return to life in yet another universe that was not my own, and my newfound abilities to cross through the Null World to enter new universes at will.

"... and when I realized the import of Harry being a Childe of Prophecy and the far-reaching ramifications of his success or failure in the multiverse, I decided to help in any way I could," I finished.

Dumbledore remained silent for a few moments as he digested my monologue. Some tension eased out of his brow and shoulders as he leaned back. "That is quite an extraordinary tale, Jon," he finally commented.

"All the more for being true, Albus."

"Yes, indeed. You mentioned being a wizard?" Dumbledore inquired.

"Not exactly," I hedged. "I'm a mage, yes, but I don't work magic the same way that you do. For one thing, I don't use a wand. Most of my abilities are tied to formulaic verse in one form or another. It's not impossible for me to use magic without it," I explained, "but it is easier. Where I come from, there's a large faction of mages called the Order of Hermes who have some superficial similarities to the manner in which you use magic: wands, potions, alchemy, that sort of thing. Officially, I don't belong to any established Tradition, but unofficially the post of Chronicler is widely respected amongst the Traditions. I'm occasionally called upon as a neutral negotiator during disagreements between them." I shrugged. "Generally speaking, the way I practiced magic tended towards subtlety due to restrictions on magic's mechanism of action in my home universe. Recently, that has become a non-issue."

"Truly fascinating, Jon," Dumbledore replied with a smile. "I can imagine that your insight regarding a different way of manipulating magic could prove useful and illuminating."

I shrugged. "Maybe as a curiosity, or academically. In my experience, once someone learns a manner in which to use magic they are not easily able to learn others."

"I wonder if I may have a demonstration of your abilities?"

"I suppose. What sort of demonstration did you have in mind?"

"I must admit to being most curious regarding the shield spell you used at the Ministry to protect yourself and Harry…" he trailed off with a smile.

In answer, I motioned towards the center of the room and intoned, " _Bastille Fortississimo,_ " the golden dome of my strongest shield spell springing into existence in the center of the room. "Go ahead and try it out. I've never seen this spell get breached- it takes more than a fair bit of energy to conjure up."

"Fascinating," Dumbledore murmured as he moved to examine the spell. "Does it require concentration or additional energy after it's formed?" he inquired.

I shook my head. "It's a self-sustaining pattern. It draws on ambient magical energy to fuel itself. That's actually one of the things that's troublesome about the shield," I commented, "it absorbs energy from the spells that hit it. It's theoretically possible that it could absorb so much energy that I would be unable to dispel it. Actually," I said thoughtfully, "I've never cast it in such a magic-rich environment." I probed it with my mage sense and stated, "If you cast at it, I should be able to counter it for another two minutes. Probably five if you don't."

He made a nonverbal noise of understanding, curiosity lighting his eyes as he assumed the posture and mannerisms of a scholar, the visage of the war leader falling away until it was needed again. He waved his wand over the dome, nodding thoughtfully as he pressed a hand against it. Stepping back, he leveled his wand at it and intoned, " _Stupefy._ " A jet of red light leaped from the tip of the wand to the dome. " _Spongify_." A pink beam impacted the shield. He turned to a bowl on his desk and retrieved a small yellow candy before tossing it onto the top of the dome. It landed hard and slid off, causing him to hum to himself in thought. He then set his shoulders and altered his stance before jabbing his wand forcefully at the shield.

Dumbledore spoke no incantation, but a blinding jet of blueish-white pulsed out of his wand in a fountain of energy, impacting against the shield with a sound not unlike what I imagine a marble bell of immense size would make. I was startled to my feet, raising one hand instinctively before I caught up to my reflexes and lowered it again. The older wizard never broke concentration, narrowing his eyes as he focused on the torrent of mana that crashed against the shield.

The seconds became a minute, and then that minute bled into more. Dumbledore's teeth were gritted together, his jaw clenched. A spurt of flame flared in the corner of the office, resolving into a bird with crimson and gold plumage. The phoenix settled onto a perch not more than a few feet away from me, cocking his head curiously at the older wizard's antics.

Finally, just as I was beginning to resign myself to Dumbledore having a permanent shield dome in the middle of his office, something extraordinary happened. The dome began to pulse, fading out of luminescence before regaining its previous splendor. Cracks formed across its surface, and those cracks began to dissolve the eldritch bricks around them. Soon, gaping holes were present and then, with a sharp crack, the spell dissolved entirely.

"Holy Hell," I whispered in awe. Dumbledore staggered backwards and slumped into the chair he had vacated minuted before. The phoenix trilled a note and lighted upon the back of the chair, singing a soft song that sounded like liquid gold. "How?" I asked succinctly as I slipped back into my own chair.

"That spell is one of the most powerful shield breaker hexes in existence," Dumbledore stated. "It utilizes the magic of the caster to form a drain upon the shield, grounding it in a manner not dissimilar to a lightning rod." The old man reached behind him and snagged the bowl of candy off of his desk. "Lemon drop?" he offered as he popped one into his mouth.

"Yes, thank you," I replied as I accepted the proffered candy. His grin grew perceptively as I unwrapped the treat.

"I do not doubt that your shield would have held against nearly anyone's onslaught," he continued. "I am, at the risk of sounding boastful, a rather powerful wizard, and few have the raw power or knowledge to achieve a feat like that which you just witnessed." He kept his peace for awhile, stroking the fiery plumage of the bird I would later learn was named Fawkes.

"I wonder if I might ask a favor of you, my new friend."

"I'm willing to hear your request," I responded. The smirk he flashed me showed that my lack of commitment was neither overlooked or held against me.

"You have glimpsed the situation which the wizarding world finds itself in," the venerable headmaster began. "The forces of darkness have been revealed and will soon increase the severity and frequency of their attacks upon the populace. Their leader, Voldemort, will stop at nothing in his attempt to kill our friend, the young Mr. Potter." At this point, Dumbledore looked every one of his (presumably many) years. "In my own attempts to shelter Harry from the darkness of the times and allow him a measure of childhood I have unintentionally ostracized myself in his eyes. This during a time when he will need, more than ever, the guidance and tutelage of an accomplished wizard to train him to face the trials that are undoubtedly ahead. Even were he willing to work with me, alas, I find my part in stalling the forces of darkness to preclude my teaching Harry myself."

"Albus," I interrupted gently, "though we have just met, I believe we have one another's measure. We are men of action, scholars turned warriors in defense of our convictions. Speak plainly." Dumbledore wilted, age and infirmity overtaking the vitality with which he generally presented the world. "There is a saying in my tribe," I continued. "'At times, one finds in strangers the most trustworthy confidants and the truest of allies.'"

Dumbledore visibly gathered himself. "You know of the existence of a prophecy tying Harry and Voldemort's fates together. What you don't know are the contents. The most immediately relevant portion is the following line: 'Either must die at the hands of the other for neither can live while the other survives.' Voldemort has far more experience in magical matters than Mr. Potter who, despite his impressive talents and power is, after all, a school child. Another portion of the prophecy states that Harry will 'have power the Dark Lord knows not.' I wonder now if it may reference your particular brand of magic." The aged headmaster fixed me with his stare. "Please, Jon, will you help Harry?"

I leaned back and steepled my fingers in front of my face. That I would help Harry was not in question, but the nature of the prophecy as it had been revealed to me dictated the nature of that help. I needed more information. I needed the full prophecy for a start. "Tell me the full prophecy, Albus. Verbatim," I insisted. Sepulchrally, he intoned:

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…"

My mind raced as it catalogued and cross-referenced the new information with what I already knew. "Mark him?" I asked absently.

"Harry has a scar from his survival of the Killing Curse cast upon him as an infant."

"Describe this curse."

"It stops all metabolic activity instantly upon contact with the victim."

"That shouldn't leave a mark," I commented as my attention was drawn out of my thoughts and to the elder wizard.

"It usually doesn't. Harry is the only known survivor of this curse."

"What factors are different in Harry's situation than any other?"

"His mother sacrificed herself for him."

I scowled. "I said 'different,' Albus. You can't convince me that nobody has ever sacrificed themselves for a loved one before. That's hardly unique."

Dumbledore shrugged elegantly. "The only other thing I can think of is the prophecy. It stated that Voldemort would 'mark him as his equal.' If he cast the curse prior to marking Harry, magic itself may have intervened."

"I hate prophecies," I stated blandly. "Is there any evidence for immunity to the killing curse being the 'power he knows not'?"

"There's no evidence for immunity at all, actually, as we don't know for certain that the killing curse was used that night."

"Probably not a good idea to test this immunity theory, anyway," I said half in jest.

"Quite."

"What else do I need to know?" I asked as I scrutinized the elderly man.

He hesitated almost imperceptibly.

"Albus," I said sharply, drawing upon my diplomatic experience with various heads of state, "you can't expect me to assure Mr. Potter's survival without giving me all the relevant data!" I paused and let my intuition guide my next question. "Does your reticence have something to do with Voldemort's necromantic aura?"

It was only the honed observational skills of generations of Chroniclers that allowed me to note the surprise that Dumbledore almost immediately hid. "Tell me everything you know," I demanded. After a lengthy pause, he did.

What followed was a lengthy explanation of Horcruxes, and theorizing regarding Voldemort's implementation thereof. It was my intuition once more that led me to ask, "Harry?"

I was a bit disheartened to hear Dumbledore's response of, "Most probably."

"Does he know?"

"No. He just learned of the prophecy tonight, and I did not believe it would be beneficial to give him even more to worry about."

"You're not wrong," I muttered as I leaned back and popped the lemon drop in my mouth. He mirrored my actions and we both sat in quiet contemplation for a few minutes. The silence was broken when I asked, "So what happens with him now?"

"The school year will end, and the students will return to their homes for the holidays. In Harry's case, that is his mother's sister's home."

"It's good that he will be with family after losing his godfather like that," I nodded approvingly before catching the shifty-eyed glance that Dumbledore and Fawkes exchanged. "Crepes on a crutch, why do I have a sudden bad feeling about what I just said?"

"Harry and his relatives… don't get on very well," Dumbledore stated delicately.

"Naturally." My tone could hardly be drier."Well, I'll need to train him anyway, right? Couldn't he just stay with me for the summer? Classic apprentice setup, room and board, chores in exchange for unlocking the secrets of the multiverse, that sort of stuff?"

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "He would need to stay with his relatives for a couple of weeks to recharge the protections there, but after that… I was, however, under the impression that you were… new to the area? Not quite established, as it were?"

I leaned forward and smiled mysteriously, affected a conspiratorial voice and whispered, "I have my ways, Albus, don't you worry. Give me two weeks to get myself set up." Sitting straight again, I continued more seriously. "You need to understand what you're asking of me. I will help him, but I will do it my way, and I will not accept interference. Do we have an accord?"

He turned over our conversation in his mind, looking into my eyes thoughtfully before he finally stated, "Yes, we do."

"Then the deal is struck," I chirped brightly, springing to my feet and startling the phoenix. "I'll see you here in two weeks, Headmaster. Enjoy the remainder of the school term.

"And good luck in your own endeavors for the next fortnight, Chronicler."


	4. Raven, Entry 5

_Although I had decided to pursue Jon after his message to me, I had no clear idea of exactly how to do so. I was no stranger to interdimensional travel, having shifted often between Earth and Nevermore, and more occasionally between Earth and Azarath, but this was decidedly different. The existence of alternate dimensions was no great secret, but knowledge of the means to travel safely between them was... classified at best._

 _So, I began a course of intensive research._

 _Nightwing was kind enough to get me access to the Watchtower's database and, I suspect, the Batcave's resources as well. I called in favors that I had gathered in the city's occult scene and performed small magical services in exchange for notes and transcribed passages from rare books. I consulted with heroes, historians, physicists, and villains. I swept through the light and stalked through the shadows, leaving no avenue of information untried no matter how unlikely it would be to provide results._

 _I was immortal. I had all the time in the world._

 _Eventually my breakthrough came from an unexpected direction, from someone that knew Jon, but was new to me…_

 _-Raven_


	5. A Stranger In A Strange Land

"Ms. Raven-"

"Just Raven, please."

The office was disorganized and out-dated. There was no computer, and the phone was ancient and of the rotary model that Raven had only ever seen in old movies. The lights were off and the air conditioning system wasn't working, leaving a large window open to the outdoors that provided light and air circulation. There were a few stuffed chairs in front of an over-large wooden desk, opposite of a larger, worn leather chair in which the man sat. Raven sat opposite in one of the stuffed chairs, the seams strained and leaking stuffing in places. On a low table near the frosted glass door leading into the office were several stacks of brochures with titles such as "Magic is Real" and "Think You're a Wizard? Ask Me!". The frosted window had letters on it, in old black type reminiscent of the film noir serials that Nightwing thought nobody knew he watched in the black hours of the morning, spelling out "Harry Dresden, Wizard."

"Raven, then," the man sighed. He was tall and not unhandsome, very thin but unconsciously radiating power that tasted dark and fiery. "You must understand that in my business confidentiality is integral. If nobody trusts in your discretion, word gets around and you end up starving and out of a job."

"Mr. Dresden-"

"Harry, please. It's only fair."

Raven loosed a delicate snort and rolled her eyes slightly as she smirked at herself. She should have expected that. "Harry, your normal business practices do not apply in this situation. Jon-" and it was only her empathic senses that caught the faintest hint of a flinch from the man, his face and body betraying nothing- "has left and will no longer be able to avail himself of your services or spread tales of your indiscretion." She leaned forward after glancing at a note she had made in a small composition book in her lap. "He has, I believe, gone beyond the Outer Gates."

Dresden immediately closed off, his eyes becoming diamond and his face carving itself from granite. "If it is as you say, Raven," he stated frostily, "then this Jon must be dead. Or worse."

"I know that is not true."

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Raven beat him to it. "I know it is not true because he has spoken to me. His message, sent to himself _by_ himself, through you, led a man that was Jon and not Jon to me on Titan's Island, and through that connection _my_ Jon bespoke me, across the multiverse." She stood and threw back her cloak, the glamor immediately dissipating and revealing her wings, her eyes splitting into four from their original two, and her tail appearing as it languidly lashing behind her.

"I am very aware," she stated calmly, "of what lies Outside. Your society of wizards is insular and protected by ancient oaths and pacts with extranormal beings, and part of those pacts keep you ignorant of certain truths regarding the multiverse. I need help getting to Jon, and my research has led me to believe that you are my best option. I ask you to keep an open mind as we deal. And put away that silly drumstick before you do something you'll regret," she added in a distinctly annoyed tone.

Dresden carefully placed his blasting rod on the desk between them. It did not escape Raven's notice that it was still within easy reach of the wizard.

"Let's say for a moment that I am willing to help you, in violation of a law or two that would quite literally put my head on the chopping block. What could you possibly offer me that would balance that sort of ledger back into my favor?" Dresden asked guardedly, and not a little curiously.

Raven smiled, and Dresden was struck by the fact that her revealed fangs did nothing to reduce her young beauty. "Harry, how would you like to be a Titan?"

* * *

After deciding to settle in this universe for an indeterminate amount of time I was left with the reality of my own poverty. I had little more than the clothes I was wearing, and the means by which I had acquired wealth during my last extended stay in a universe took too long to implement for my current goals. Thus, it was time to get creative.

I had two weeks to procure housing and a means to support myself and an apprentice. The amount of time that I would be devoting to Harry's training precluded a traditional job, and I found myself with little in the way of contacts. One of the individuals in the castle had been kind enough to provide directions to a banking center, tucked away in a magical alley in London.

After a bit of hunting through the unfamiliar and twisting streets of this world's London, I stood before the establishment that guarded the portal to one of the largest concentrations of wizards in the country. I had been given a description along with directions, but I had still expected something grandiose, or eldritch, or anything that matched the bizarre sensibilities and tastes that mages invariably developed when they gathered in large groups for extended periods of time.

The ramshackle pub with a faded wooden sign proclaiming it as "The Leaky Cauldron" was distinctly underwhelming. With a chuckle I passed through the entrance and beheld... a pub. Shaking my head, I approached the bar and bespoke the kindly, toothless old man that stood sentinel there.

"Greetings," I stated simply.

"Welcome!" he replied, putting down a glass he had been polishing and turning his attention to me. "I'm afraid I'm unfamiliar with you, stranger. Visiting?" he asked.

"Yes, I'm just returned from the colonies," I replied in an impeccable British accent, "to visit some relations you see. However, and this is terribly embarrassing, my niece managed her first bout of magic and ended up breaking my wand." He flinched and I grinned internally, laying it on a little thicker for the sake of drama. "Of course, we were ever-so-pleased on the one hand, but I find myself unable to enter the alley without it."

"And doubtless you'd rather replace it with Ollivander's than anything across the pond, eh lad?"

"Only Ollivander's for me and mine," I lied through a smile, spreading my hands to display both amused resignation and sheepish helplessness. "If it wouldn't be too much of an imposition..."

A boisterous laugh ripped from the man as he waved my hands down. "No worries, I'll pass you through. Dangerous to be about without a wand now that rumours of You-Know-Who returning are circulating," he stated, his humor draining away towards the end of the sentence. I followed him out back to a blind alley that terminated in a brick wall, where he drew and wand from a holster at his side and quickly tapped a series of bricks, revealing a twisting street beyond as the masonry reassembled itself into an archway in a manner not unlike the Autobots in the old Transformer cartoons. With gracious thanks and a promise to return after my business was concluded to try the house special, I set off towards the towering edifice of marble that I had been told housed the banking center for magical Britain.

During my walk I marveled at the variety of businesses and the number of magicals wandering the streets. Any city of sufficient size had enough magicals to create a sort of cottage industry trading talismans, potions, and knowledge, but the sheer concentration of mages here in this universe had created something that I had never seen before: a seemingly self-supporting society.

There were clothing shops, ice-cream shops, a pet store, a book store ( _printed_ books, which necessarily indicated a _printing press_ ), multiple apothecaries, various merchants selling miscellaneous trinkets from a half-dozen street carts, and much more.

Also, as I was coming to expect from this bizarre world, the casual and utilitarian use of magic was everywhere! Cantrips of cooling and warming in the shops to regulate temperature, enchantments woven into merchandise to prevent theft, animated drawings and moving pictures that advertised products or accompanied news articles... there was little that conventional technology could do that could not be done magically, and this area was saturated in magic.

More interesting was what I did not see. There were no sewer grates or storm drains, no trash bins, and no public restrooms. Advertisements did not have scantily-clad females or well-muscled men to promote their products. Clothing shops carried no bathing suits despite summer's grasp on the nation. As I wandered further afield through the cross streets and blind cul-de-sacs, I saw leather workers and lawyers, enchanters and grocers, and specialty shops of various descriptions. I did not see dentists, optometrists, or doctors of any description. The presence of second-hand shops hinted at some level of economic disparity.

The majority of the shops had lodgings above them, and the height of the buildings rarely exceeded two stories, and never more than three. Buildings leaned together, sometimes nearly meeting their opposites across streets both narrow and cobbled, well-suited to foot-traffic and showing no sign of vehicular use. Strong magic was used to keep the wood and brick construction from toppling, visible to my senses as a patchwork lattice of a gently glowing, layered pattern.

I nodded to myself thoughtfully, paused a moment to watch the crowds moving, and continued at an even pace.

As I approached the towering marble edifice of Gringotts, I had to dim my senses down until they were practically turned off. The _stone itself_ was magical, or nearly so, saturated with staid, practical, and utterly devious patterns that nested and interlocked in ways that made my head hurt. It was brilliant, but an alien brilliance, inhuman in basic premise although not unable to be understood. It gave me a good idea of what to expect when I entered the building.

The grand doors opened without my hand touching them (a proximity-sensing and basic animation spell, if I had to guess. Which I did, my senses dialed down nearly to mundane levels of perception), and I entered into a vast hall of expertly cut and laid marble. Two long rows of counters ran parallel along the center of the hall, staffed by squat creatures with bright eyes and clever fingers, and skin tones ranging from the pale off-white of bad tapioca pudding to a ruddier, bilious green. All of these creatures were engaged with intense focus upon their various tasks. Along one wall, in a corner somewhat more removed from the bustle of the bank's clients, there stood a small seating area with couches, chairs, a table and tea service, all sitting upon an ornate rug and shielded further from the business of commerce by a number of thick ferns and other decorative plants. It was to this area that I conducted myself, and chose a seat with an excellent view of the whole hall.

Now began the difficult part of the day. The part I enjoyed.

Watching.

 _Learning._

If I was to mentor Harry, I needed funds. To get funds quickly, I needed to go through Gringott's. To maximize my chances, I needed to know wizards, witches, and the employees of Gringott's, which I had just learned were called goblins.

So, I watched. And I learned.


End file.
